


Baby, I've Got You on a Pedestal

by chalantness



Series: I love you in this world (and the thousand others) [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Princess Nat and Bodyguard Steve, Romanogers Smut Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 13:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16724247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: “It’s different.”“What is?”His throat flexes in a light swallow, and, if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he almost looks embarrassed. “The color.” He takes a fleeting, pointed glance at her lips again, and she feels it click into place. “It’s different.”





	Baby, I've Got You on a Pedestal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleepygrimm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepygrimm/gifts).



> For [Romanogers Smut Week](http://romanogersweek.tumblr.com/post/180315600661/romanogersweek-romanogers-week-presents) \- Day One: first time, lipstick, passion
> 
> This is a collab I did with sleepygrimm! [Here's the moodboard that inspired this fic :)](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/sleepygrimm/180438171985)

She whimpers as his hands come around her hips, gripping, holding her in place as he slows the roll of his hips to a stop. His body is taut and still above her, his breaths harsh and hot against the curve of her neck, and when she mewls, “no, keep _going_ ,” she feels him huff out a laugh.

“Easy now, princess,” he mumbles against her pulse, sliding his lips slowly up her throat, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Were you close?”

A frustrated growl falls from her lips, earning another laugh from Steve as he starts to draw away from her, rolling onto his back to lay beside her on the bed. “Steve, what—” she starts, but he catches her hand, his hair falling into his bright, blue eyes as he gently tugs her toward him. For a fleeting second, she simply stares at him, not quite sure what he wants. But then he shifts to sit up a little higher against the abundance of pillows on her bed, to get comfortable, and her eyes flick down to where the length of him is still hard for her, slicked with her arousal, and, _oh_. Her breath hitches, her heart stuttering in her chest. “I’ve never done it like this,” she whispers, and he just smiles a little wider, his expression soft, encouraging, and she licks her lips and draws herself to sit up. Her pulse is thrumming, but she knows it’s not out of nerves. It’s out of anticipation.

He draws her hand to his shoulder, and she uses it to steady herself as she hooks her leg over him, moving to straddle his hips. His hands slide over her stomach, over her ribs to cup her breasts, and she lets out this little sound as his thumb brushes over one of her nipples.

“You can take me as deep as you want like this,” he says, shifting his hips so that the head of him brushes over her clit, and her vision nearly blurs at the burst of pleasure.

“Steve,” she breathes, digging her nails into his shoulders. He gently pries one of her hands off, guiding it between them, to his length, and she swallows lightly as she wraps her fingers around him.

“You can control how fast, how much.” He brushes his knuckles down her flushed cheek. “That’s what I want you to do. Take control.” His lips quirk. “I know you’re good at it.”

“Not with this,” she admits, hating how small her voice sounds, how much it shakes. “I don’t know anything about – _this_.”

She hadn’t been a virgin when they first slept together, but that had only been a technicality. She could’ve counted on one hand how many times she had sex before Steve. As the princess, she hadn’t exactly had the luxury of having a carefree, drunken stumble like every other kid at the university; and the fact that there were guards that followed her everywhere, that vetted any and every person that spent time with her outside of lectures, wasn’t exactly an easy atmosphere to grow intimate in. It was something she thought about several times before, but something that never really _bothered_ her. She’d grown up understanding that there were simply some experiences out of her realm of exploring.

Until Steve.

He hooks his hand over the back of her neck and draws her close to kiss her, nipping at her lower lip. “It’s okay.” His thumb rubs a circle where it’s resting at her throat, encouraging, and she guides the tip of him at her entrance, holding his gaze. “Just do what feels good for you.”

“What about you?” she asks, her voice tight as she slowly sinks onto him, her head nearly tipping back from the pleasure. He feels bigger like this, feels like he reaches deeper into her, stretches her out even more, and she lets out a shaky breath.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters, his hand tightening on her hip. “Trust me, princess.” His lips quirk at the corners, smirking, as his thumb slips between them and rubs at her slick little bundle of nerves, making her walls flutter. He groans softly, hips jutting up, just barely, but it makes her gasp all the same. “It feels good for me, too.”

She has to go slowly at first, the muscles in her legs aching against the restraint, and her clit aching even more so at every rough drag of him against her folds as she lifts herself all the way up then back down. She can’t quite understand how she feels _so much_ _more_ like this and it’s overwhelming—and then he shifts, leaning back a little more, changing the angle and making him hit that deep, sweet spot inside of her, and she lets out a soft whimper. The only thing grounding her through the pleasure is his hand still on the back of her neck, massaging gently, and the hand gently flexing his grip on her hip. She can’t even tell if she’s going fast enough, if her movements are too stuttered or too awkward.

“Steve,” she breathes, her head tipping forward, her forehead resting against his as her body starts to tremble. It’s almost too much, but she still wants _more_.

He slides his hand from her neck, down her ribs to curve over her other hip, and then he’s gripping her even tighter as he rolls his hips up into her, and she gasps at the sharp rush of pleasure that bursts over her. “ _Fuck_ , fuck,” he all but growls, hitching her legs open a little wider with every bruising thrust of his hips. She braces a hand against the headboard, nails scratching, needing something, _anything_ , to keep her from drowning in sensation, but it’s washing over her too quickly. “You feel so fucking amazing like this.”

Despite the fact that she feels as if she’s unraveling too quickly, her lips twitch in amusement. “ _Just_ like this?” she teases, breathless.

He growls, tipping his head up to nip at her lower lip. “Always,” he tells her, and then his thumb comes over her little bundle of nerves again, circling, and she keens out a moan.

Her orgasm bursts over her, practically knocking the air from her lungs as white-hot pleasure fans over every inch of skin, drowning out every nerve and every muscle, making her feel weightless. He keeps circling his thumb, keeps thrusting his hips into her, and she feels a little bit like she can’t _breathe_ , but in the best way possible.

With a groan, he rolls them over, taking her hand and twining their fingers together as he pins it to the mattress beside her head, thrusting into her faster, _harder_ , dragging out the pleasure. Her spine arches, her lips parting in a gasp, and then his entire body grows taut above her as he lets out a long, low sort of growl as he follows her over the edge.

She feels his forehead fall against her shoulder, his pants coming out harsh and staggered against her skin, and when she finally catches her breath, a soft giggle spills from her lips.

“ _God,_ Steve.”

His mouth curve into a smile against her collarbone, and he places a kiss there before drawing away, lifting his head to meet her gaze. She gently presses her palms against his back, holding him in place, urging him to stay like this – to let _her_ stay like this, coiled around him, tucked underneath his chest – a moment longer. “Good?”

“Always.” She grins. “You know, you’re always teaching _me_ things. You’re always my first.” She slides her hands around his torso, up his chest. “As if I wasn’t spoiled enough.”

He grins because he knows she’s teasing, but his tone is sincere when he says, “You’re privileged, Nat. But that doesn’t make you spoiled.” Then his eyes sparkle, his grin turning crooked, almost boyish. “And for the record, I quite like being your teacher. You’re always eager to try new things, do whatever I say.”

She can’t help but laugh. “Guess both of us are a little privileged like that, aren’t we?”

... ...

He’s distracted.

It’s something she knows he’s capable of, obviously. He always seems _very_ distracted whenever she flutters her eyelashes, or bites on her lower lip, or glances at him from over her shoulder, smiling whenever she catches his gaze on the skin exposed from the low dip of her backless dresses. But this is different.

She’s sitting beside him in the passenger seat of a royal service car, and it’s just the two of them for once, because Agent Barnes and Barton are preceding them in the motorcade. Usually her transportation isn’t this _grand_ , but she’s trying not to read too much into it. Her parents have been a little more paranoid whenever she steps foot outside too far away from the castle, ever since she graduated from university and the public – particularly the press – have become more aggressive. No one has laid a hand on her at all, thankfully, but she _has_ felt a bit of a shift in the attention. Her father is just taking precaution, and there are simply days like today where he worries a little more than usual.

She doesn’t quite mind it right now, though. She and Steve are hardly ever entirely alone, and she’ll take any moment of peace with him that she can.

But not like this.

“Okay, what is it?” she asks, glancing away from the visor to look at him. (Yes, she’s in the passenger seat because she insisted on it; their windows are tinted far more than is normally legal, for obvious reasons, and she’d emphasized this when she argued that it would be safe for her to be up front with him.)

His eyes are on the road, but she knows that’s not what’s distracting him. “Hm?”

“You’re being weird,” she points out, squinting at him despite the fact that he can’t see this. There’s a beat of pause. “Is there something I should be worried about?” she asks in a quiet voice, because it’s always a possibility. Technically, they’re not supposed to alarm her by saying anything if the danger hasn’t been confirmed, but she asks, anyway.

“No,” he promises, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, and she eases at the reassurance in his gaze. “It’s just—” His gaze flicks down to her lips. “It’s different.”

“What is?”

His throat flexes in a light swallow, and, if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he almost looks embarrassed. “The color.” He takes a fleeting, pointed glance at her lips again, and she feels it click into place. “It’s different,” he repeats, and she feels her lips curl. Somehow, she knows that _different_ means something else in this context.

She hums, turning back to her visor and parting her lips. She already swiped on a coat, and distracting him while he’s driving is probably not what she should be doing right now, but she can’t quite help herself. She knows Steve is in complete control despite how fixated he seems to be on the bright, vivid red coloring on her lips, and she kind of loves it. “Do you like it?” She swipes the color over her bottom lip again before lightly rubbing them together, parting her lips with a soft pop. “It’s my first time wearing it.”

“Yeah, I like it,” he replies, his voice lower and rougher than a moment before, and she feels herself grin as she flips the visor back up.

“Good.” She leans over the center console, lifting a hand so she can cup his cheek, kiss his jaw, but his gruff, “ _Nat_ ,” makes her pause, her hand hovering midair between them as she furrows her eyebrows. “What?”

“We’re about to see your _family_ , in a _public_ event,” he reminds with a bit of a laugh. “And you’re sitting in the _front seat_. The windows may be tinted, but that doesn’t make us invisible.” He glances at her, lips quirked in a sexy little smirk. “So, as much as I’d love your lips on me, princess, you probably shouldn’t touch me tonight.”

“At all?” She doesn’t mean to sound so disappointed, but, well.

He laughs again, fingers flexing around the steering wheel. “At all,” he repeats, his words sounding firm and final. Natasha frowns, still staring at his profile.

 _Well_.

... ...

The grand opening of the new opera house goes off without a hitch, and, once everyone had moved into one of the ballrooms for the after party, Natasha had been able to put a little distance between her and Steve. Her parents’ entire royal service detail is in attendance, and a few more agents had been brought in simply because of how public tonight’s event is, which means that Steve doesn’t have to shadow quite as closely as she works the room. She can feel his gaze on her as she floats from person to person, nursing the same glass of champagne that someone handed her over an hour ago because she’s taken little sips, letting her lips hover against the rim, knowing it’ll hold Steve’s attention.

“You’re in quite a good mood, darling,” her mother says, one eyebrow arched teasingly as she slips her arm through her daughter’s.

Natasha rubs her lips together, trying, and failing, to hide her grin. Steve is still watching her intently from the spot he’d taken against the wall. “Am I?”

“ _Quite_ so,” her mother laughs, seeing right through her half-hearted attempt at nonchalance, and Natasha laughs, too, glancing up at the wide, arching, ornate ceiling above their head. “You’ve always had a fondness for the arts, ever since your ballet days.” Her mother smiles at her, and Natasha bites on the inside of her lip, fighting off a smirk. She isn’t sure whether to find it sweet or a little bit ridiculous that her mother thinks that her giddiness has to do with the opera house itself. “Why don’t you take a private tour?”

“You mean, ditch the party and aimlessly wander the hallways?”

Her mother shrugs, smiling. “I’m sure no one will mind. Or _notice_.” She lifts a hand, gesturing for Steve to come over, and Natasha feels her pulse trip in her neck as she catches his gaze. As he draws closer, she realizes how his posture seems a little stiffer, his eyes a little darker.

He arches an eyebrow in a question as he nears, but then his expression smooths into that professional, polite smile of his as her mother turns to him. “Your Highness?”

“I think Natasha could use a little bit of air, away from all this fuss,” her mother says, leaning in with a conspiring sort of wink, waving her hand around at the room. Natasha tries not to laugh, and, by the amused twitch of his lips, she can tell Steve is trying not to, too. “Why don’t you step outside and keep her company?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Steve replies.

Her mother grins, pleased, and then leaves them with a kiss pressed to Natasha’s cheek. Natasha glances at Steve, biting on her lower lip, and she swears she hears him groan lightly as she turns on the point of her toes and heads for one of the back exits of the ballroom.

The air is cooler as they step into the hallway, the chatter and laughter from the party fading slightly, and Steve lifts his sleeve to his mouth and murmurs, “I’ve got Swan,” into his radio piece. Her eyelashes flutter, a tingle sliding down her spine like it always does whenever she hears him use her royal service codename. His voice always sounds a little sweeter, a little sexier, and she remembers the way he’d whispered it into her ear – coarse, breathless – right before she was going to come, that night they first slept together.

Her stomach flips at the memory, coiling and tightening. Then he leans in, his suit smooth and cold against her bare shoulder, his breath warm as he whispers, “You’re playing a dangerous game, darling,” into her ear.

She shivers lightly. “I don’t think it can be considered a game if I’m the only one playing.”

“Natasha,” he says, his voice half-amused, half-exasperated. “Need I remind you that anyone can see us out in the open like this?”

She pauses her stride, his arm pressing against hers as she turns slightly, lifts herself on her toes, her face inches from his as she whispers, “So let’s find a room.”

He groans. “ _Natasha_.”

She glances behind them to make sure they’re not being followed or watched, then she grasps his hand and drags him off to the side of the hallway before he can protest, into a room that she guesses is some powder room when they stumble into it. She shuts the door behind them, switching the lock into place. He smirks, amusement sparkling in his eyes, but when he reaches for her, she lifts her hands and holds her palms out, and he pauses. “What…?” he starts to ask, head tilting, but she slips past him and walks further into the room with a soft laugh. The room is small but every bit as grand as the rest of the opera house, and the velvet bench against the wall matches the ones that are outside.

She touches her hand to the polished, wooden arm of the bench, glancing over her shoulder at him with an arched eyebrow. “No touching, remember?”

He blinks, confused for a moment, but then she sees the realization cross his expression.

She lifts a hand and reaches for the zipper of her dress at her side. “If I’m not allowed to touch you, then you’re not allowed to touch me.”

“Nat,” he says, his voice a little tighter, a little rougher.

Her lips curve as she tugs at the zipper slowly, letting the fabric peel away from her body, sliding down, until it ends up in a pool of fabric at her feet. Steve’s expression remains in place, almost impassive, but she noticed the way his throat flexes in a swallow, the way his jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth. His gaze slides down her curves, from the white, strapless bra tied with a bow between her breasts, to her thin, lacy panties and the stockings drawn high up her thighs, down to the thin point of her strappy stiletto high heels.

Holding his gaze, she lowers herself onto the bench, letting her legs fall open. Her panties are damp from the way Steve had been watching her all night, and, even from a few steps away, she knows he can tell this. She spreads her fingers against the inside of her thighs and pushes her legs a little further apart, and he exhales slowly.

“If I’d had known you liked the color red so much,” she tells him, running two fingers up the front of her sex through the lace, “then I would’ve worn it much sooner.”

His lips twitch. “You should’ve known how much I liked the color considering how much I like _you_.”

She breathes out a laugh, rubbing soft, slow circles over herself for a moment, feeling herself grow wetter, feeling her bundle of nerves grow taut. She leans back against the bench, moves her fingers up and under her panties, swiping it through her wetness, and Steve groans, reaching for the front of his jeans, but she stops him with a soft, “ _no_.”

He pauses, hands hovering over the buckle of his belt. He licks his lips, staring back at her. “No?” He doesn’t sound frustrated; just curious.

“Don’t touch yourself,” she commands, feeling a thrill rush through her when he obeys, lowering his hands back to his sides. He leans back against the wall as he holds her stare, as if needing its support, or knowing that he will soon enough.

Slipping her fingers under the lace of her panties, she swipes them through her wetness and draws them back up, touching them to her bottom lip. He stares, transfixed, as his eyes follow the slow slide of her fingertips along her lips, coating her red lipstick with her arousal. His lips move in a muttered curse that she doesn’t quite catch, and he looks as if he wants to snatch her hand and take her fingers into his own mouth, coat her wetness onto his ow lips as he’s done dozens of times already. She reaches down, dips back through her sex and does it again, letting the thick, sweet scent of her fill her senses. His hand slides over the bulge of his pants absently, but she lets it slide for a moment.

“Can you come just like this?” she asks, curious, arching her back a little more as she slips her hands over her panties and starts to rub circles once more. “Just from watching?”

“Don’t know,” he admits in a mumble, his gaze flitting from her lips to her fingers and back, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “I’ve never tried.”

A warmth unfurls her stomach at this – at learning that this would be his _first_ just as much as it’s hers – and her breath hitches as she rubs a little harder, a little faster. She’s growing wetter, her clit beginning to throb, and her eyelids fall half-closed and the tortured sort of moan that leaves his lips.

His body slumps against the wall, his hips rolling up into his hand, subtle but undeniable, and the sight of it – of _him_ – makes her nipples harden.

He must notice it, too, because he says, “Your bra,” in this gruff sort of breath. Her hands snap up, almost fumbling in her haste to unknot the bow holding it together, and then her bra is falling away from her as she cups one breast. She squeezes it in her palm, pinching her nipple between her thumb and her index finger as her other hand pushes up into her hair and twists it in her grip, needing the sensation to anchor her. It feels good, _too fucking good_ , because the weight of his gaze makes it feel as if _he’s_ the one doing it.

She cups both breasts in her hands, tugging at her nipples the way she knows he does, the way that has her hips rolling up, and she watches through heavy eyelids as his grip flexes over the hard length of him through his dress slacks, his hips rolling a little faster.

“Touch yourself,” he orders, sounding every bit as desperate as she feels. “Then tell me how you taste.”

She mewls, sliding her hands down her stomach, hooking her fingers under her panties to pull it aside with one hand and then using the other to dip through her folds. She grazes her clit with the motion and her hips snap up as she moves them inside of her, in and out, trying to mimic the way Steve has done it to her so many times before.

“ _Taste_.”

She pulls her hand away almost reluctantly, brings her fingers to her lips and draws them into her mouth, letting her tongue lick her wetness off of her skin.

“Natasha,” he says, and her gaze snaps onto him. His jaw flexes. “Tell me how you taste,” he repeats slowly, dragging out almost every vowel.

“Clean,” she blurts out when she pulls her hand away, then she darts her tongue over her lower lip. “Like sweet and musk.”

“Again,” he commands, his body sliding down the wall so that he’s basically sitting on the floor, one elbow propping him up against the hardwood. His hand is still cupped over the front of him, his hips rolling up against his palm. His movements are growing restrained once more, but she knows it’s because he’s even more worked up.

She dips her fingers into herself again, thrusting and curling into her sex as she practically grinds her hips into the couch. Her legs fall open a little wider as she angles her wrist and hits a little deeper, making her spine arch, making her toes curl. Then, with a shaking hand, she draws her fingers back up to her lips and sucks them into her mouth once more, nearly moaning at the taste as she holds Steve’s gaze. “I taste like I really want to come,” she says, bringing her fingers back between her legs and thrusting them inside herself again, growing more desperate. Her other hand slips under her panties to find her clit, and she lets out a whine when she does, rubbing tight, little circles over and over.

“Let me see,” he breathes. It feels a little bit like they’re both trying to call the shots, and both trying to follow orders, and, well.

Isn’t that exactly how they’ve always been?

She stands up on shaking legs, hooks her fingers under the waistband of her panties and pushes them down her legs, stepping out of them and tossing them haphazardly to the floor. Then she sits back down on the couch and starts touching herself again, her fingers fucking faster and her strokes tightening over her clit.

“ _Nat_ ,” Steve groans, sounding strained, sounding every bit as overwhelmed as she feels, and her breath hitches at this. At the reality that he seems turned on – that he seems like he’s going to _come_ – just from watching her. “ _Fuck_ , Nat.” His voice grows tight, almost in a plea.

“Touch yourself,” she says, and, with a strangled exhale, he fumbles with the buckle of his belt and grasps his length.

And the sight of him on the floor like this, with his legs spread, his hand wrapped around himself, his half-lidded gaze fixed on her, is what sends her over the edge of that dizzying peak. She _whimpers_ his name as she falls apart, yanking her hands from her sex and pushing them into her hair, gripping, twisting, hips rolling up to ride the waves of her orgasm. Everything feels white-hot and hazy with pleasure, but she vaguely registers the sound of Steve groaning her name, and with a blurry gaze, she watches as he comes into his hand, spilling onto the floor with the jagged thrust of his hips. A shudder rolls over her, her head tipping over the back of the couch as she rides out her high.

She doesn’t realize how harsh her breaths have become until a few long moments later, when she realizes how the quiet, still air of the powder room is filled with their pants.

Steve grunts softly, and a few breaths later, she feels the bench creak under his weight as he sits beside her, one hand cupping her jaw and pulling her to him in a kiss. His thumb strokes down her jaw, and he angles his head, kissing her harder, deeper.

“Did you like that?” he asks, kissing her again once, twice, three times, before she can even begin to respond. “Being my first?” Another kiss. “Teaching _me_ something?”

She hums, reaching up to push her hand into his hair, twisting the soft locks of it in her grip. “Yeah,” she breathes, hearing the giddiness in her voice. “Did you?”

“I fucking loved it,” he says with a breathy sort of a laugh. “Lucky for us, there’s a lot we can find for us to learn together.”

Her heart flutters in her chest as she leans back to look at him: his eyes are heavy-lidded and glinting, his mouth smudged with a bit of her red lipstick, and it makes her smile widen just a little more. “Lucky us.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a collab done with the lovely [sleepygrimm](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/sleepygrimm)! We decided to combine our smut ideas for these prompts, and this fic was inspired from the moodboard she created for our little plot bunny. It definitely won't be the last time you'll see us collab, especially when it comes to smut ;)


End file.
